


The Back Alley Behind The Werewolf Discourse Arena Where People Go To Make-Out

by thehousewedestroyed



Series: The Real Relationship Was The House We Destroyed Along The Way [13]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Christmas, Engagement, Fluff, Fluff without Plot, Karaoke, M/M, Vignettes, Werewolf Draco Malfoy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-12
Updated: 2019-11-12
Packaged: 2021-01-29 01:13:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21401713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thehousewedestroyed/pseuds/thehousewedestroyed
Summary: A reluctant werewolf and an amateur cryptozoologist-slash-barista being in love with no form, structure, or reason.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Nicolas Pereyra, Draco Malfoy/Original Male Character(s)
Series: The Real Relationship Was The House We Destroyed Along The Way [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/661424
Comments: 5
Kudos: 40





	The Back Alley Behind The Werewolf Discourse Arena Where People Go To Make-Out

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! I'm just dumping this here because its been lingering on my docs for too long. 
> 
> A "sequel" to [Werewolf Discourse, OR: Nicolas Pereyra’s Coffee Shop for Dipshit Cryptids](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12614376/chapters/28737636), although it was mostly written concurrently and serves less as a "story" and more of a "loose series of vignettes where I dumped various details and headcanons that weren't going to fit in the main fic". 
> 
> Messy! Plotless! Cute! 
> 
> Will probably not make any sense whatsoever without reading Werewolf Discourse, but I'm not your dad, I'm not gonna tell you how to live your life.

The first time Draco saw a football game was revelatory. Theoretically, he knew that muggles played sports on the ground with balls that would not, at any point, attack you of their own accord. Prior to seeing it, he was utterly convinced that nothing in the world sounded more mind-numbingly dull. If it had not been for Nico, he might have walked away from that game continuing to feel the same way.

The game was nothing special. It was a one-nil win. That lone goal had been in the first three minutes of the game and set Draco’s expectations quite high as to how frequently something exciting would happen and, insofar as that (if nothing else) he was sorely disappointed.

This had been quite early into what Draco would later call dating (and what Nico would call “hanging out”). Nico had not, at the time, known that magic was real. By his own later admission he just assumed that Draco was “a weird goth rich boy with fairly endearing delusions of grandeur”.

(As a side note: he has since revised the assessment to “a weird preppy rich boy with utterly unendearing delusions of grandeur but other qualities that mostly make up for it”.)

Draco had been blown away watching Nico play. His build is that of a beater, and from experience, Draco knows that beaters are all strength but generally relatively little speed or finesse. But Nico defied his expectations. He was light on his feet, sharp, defined and tactical. His footwork was almost like magic: not real magic, but the muggle kind, where it’s all slight of hand and distraction. He took one shot for goal during the game that actually made Draco gasp from where he was leaning on the railing at the side-lines, egging him on. A jump into the air, a twist, and a forceful but perfectly aimed kick to the net that would definitely have scored, if not for an almost equally astounding catch from the goalkeeper.

After the game he was sweaty, and gross, and stinky, and Draco had kind of wanted to lick him all over.

Draco tried to keep his cool, but had not managed to quite stop himself from enthusing most of the walk to the train station. ‘I had no idea football was good!’ he said. ‘Is it always that good?’

‘Professionally, it’s much better,’ Nico replied, laughing. ‘Have you seriously never seen a game before.’

‘Never!’

‘That’s ridiculous, what did you do at school? Didn’t you have to play sport sometimes?’

‘Of course, but not football.’

‘Let me guess,’ Nico said. ‘Something with horses. Something on horses. Frottage? No, dressage, that's the one.’

Frottage would be fine, Draco thought. It was relatively secluded walking around the back road to the underground, but maybe waiting until they got to Nico's place would be wise.

‘No, I did _real_ sport,’ he emphasised.

‘Cock ring?’ Nico asked. ‘Oh my gosh, I mean CROQUET.’

‘Keep it together, Nicolas,’ Draco had told him. ‘Mind out of the gutter.’

‘It's not my fault posh sports all sound like they should be sex things.’

‘And football doesn't? It's two body parts.’

‘How many sex acts are just the names of the appendages involved shmooshed into one word? Mouthdick?’

‘Dickbum.’

‘Tonguenipple.’

They went on like that for a while, unfortunately, which was childish and ridiculous but Draco didn't mind at all, because by the time Nico suggested the superlatively impossible ‘Titprostate’, Draco was in tears.

It was times like these, he realised later, that he fell in love with Nico. He didn't know at the time, but it became starkly clear in retrospect when the culmination of his memories of spending time with him are bright with shared laughter, easy jokes that might not be GOOD, but they're _them_. He never really had anyone like this, not before. Crabbe and Goyle guffawed at his jokes, but didn't contribute, and missed the point as often as not. Pansy was sharper than them, but always groaned whenever Draco said something stupid, and her own sense of humor was catty and blue in a way that Draco found a bit crass. Blaise and Theodore simply never found Draco funny at all.

Nico finds Draco funny, and for himself, has a stunning lack of ego and a quick sharp tongue that makes him almost impossible to offend and makes it incredibly difficult to _take_ offense, even when he's ripping into you.

It took a long time for Draco to needle out of Nico when he fell for him in turn.

‘It was that poem you wrote for me,’ Nico said finally. ‘The limerick.’

Draco had been appalled at that. ‘You broke up with me that day!’

‘Yeah,’ Nico replied. ‘Exactly.’

*

Nico did the same thing for his birthday every single year, for probably close to a decade. It drove his friends insane. Nico's friends belong to two key camps: the first group is people he knows through cryptid related activities, and these people tend to be enormous nerds. These are the same people he does weekly World of Warcraft raids with despite hating the video game, simply because it's the only way to get them all together at one time. The other group are people he knows through… Draco isn't actually sure. Sports? University, at some point? Actually, Draco is pretty sure he's met half these people from sleeping with them, or at least sleeping with someone they know. These people, anyway, are generally not weird reclusive mothman obsessed shut-ins. They're “normal” outgoing muggles. They like drinking and dancing and watching reality TV.

Every October 23rd, Nico makes all these people come do karaoke with him, dressed up as their favorite cryptid or monster. There are two problems with this: 1) the first group hates karaoke, and 2) the second group hates dressing up as cryptids.

By the time Draco was inducted into this tradition, it had become such a sore point that it was blatantly obvious that Nico was only sticking with it to annoy everyone, and that the only reason anyone went along with it at all was simply because of how much they loved Nico.

‘You have to do it,’ Nico told Draco preemptively. ‘No point in complaining. Everyone has to dress up, and everyone has to sing at least one song. It's my birthday, it's the only demand I make of anyone at any time of year. You don't have a choice.’

Draco stared at him, baffled. ‘Why would I complain?’

Nico grinned. ‘Most people complain.’

‘Well, every part of this sounds extremely good to me,’ Draco said.

‘You're happy to sing in public?’

_‘More_ than happy.’

‘And dress up?’

‘Absolutely.’

Nico looked at him, suspicious. ‘And spend the night with thirty or so muggles?’

‘All of whom are in stupid costumes and deeply don't want to be there? Nico, _Nico.’_

‘Huh. That was easy.’ Nico scratched his neck. ‘Thought you would take more convincing, to be honest.’

‘You've just set the standard as far as I'm concerned.’

‘Well, great!’ Nico clapped him on the shoulder. ‘Oh, and you gotta bring a few of your friends along, I don't want you not to know anyone.’

Draco froze. ‘Wait, I’ve got to WHAT?’

*

It was extraordinarily hard to convince Nico that he didn't have friends and no, he wasn't just exaggerating: he literally had zero friends.

‘Everyone has friends,’ Nico said, brushing him off. ‘You only need to bring like two or three people.’

‘I don't mind hanging out with just your friends,’ Draco insisted. ‘I know some of them already.’

‘Yeah, but they're still MY friends, not yours.’

‘Why are you being possessive of them? You don't want them to like me?’

‘It's not possessive. I'm just saying we need a life outside of each other. You need your own social circle, I need mine. They can intermingle--that's why I want you to bring your friends along to my stuff. But if we ever fight or break up again, you need to have people who are a support network to YOU.’

‘That's nice. I don't have anyone like that. Last time we broke up I ended up crying on my arch nemesis BECAUSE I don't have anyone like that.’

‘What about Hermione?’

‘We aren't friends, we're… study buddies. It's a mentorship thing.’

‘How ‘bout Remus?’

‘Again, he's just a weird old guy who happens to be a werewolf. And he certainly does not want to go out with a bunch of drunk twenty-somethings.’

‘Harry Potter?’

‘Nemesis, Nico. One does not karaoke with one’s arch rival.’

‘Maybe one should,’ Nico said. ‘Man, I'm not going to be your only source of human interaction. You need more than just me. Find people. End of.’

Which is how Draco ended up approaching Harry Potter with an invitation to go to Korean karaoke with Nico and all of his dumb muggle friends.

‘Uh,’ Potter said. ‘Really?’

‘Come on, it should be fun, and if not--there's a tab. And I'm paying for it, as part of Nico's birthday present, so you can get drunk on my dime.’

Potter pulled a face. ‘I don't sing,’ he said. ‘Or… do costumes. All of this sounds like hell.’

‘Don't be absurd, of course you sing. It doesn't have to be good, it's karaoke. It's just for fun.’

Potter looked slightly ill. ‘That does not sound fun,’ he said. ‘Not with strangers. Why am I invited? I barely know Nico.’

‘Nico isn't inviting you, I am. And you are inviting Weasley and Granger, or whoever you like. I was just told to bring people, and I'm not getting let off the hook for being lonely and sad.’

Potter gave him a weird look. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘But I'm not singing.’

_You are singing,_ Draco didn't say, because he wasn't going to push the issue. That was Nico’s problem.

*

‘Merlin's pants,’ Draco heard Weasley say, on the night of Nico's birthday. Draco turned on the spot, looking over his shoulder at the door.

‘There you are,’ he said, grabbing a stamp off the counter. ‘Hands out.’

The bar was crowded, full of muggles. Most of Nico's friends had brought friends, and the staff were rushing around, trying to keep up with drinks. Draco was glad he had booked out more rooms than Nico had suggested--and with half of the guests neglecting to turn up in costume, it was getting harder and harder to suss out who was part of the party and who was general public.

He looked Potter and Weasley up and down. ‘Why are you both dressed as hairy basketball players?’

Potter looked sheepish. ‘We're the teen wolf. From the movie Teen Wolf.’

‘They didn't coordinate,’ Granger said. She was dressed as some sort of lake monster, possibly a selkie.

‘You're not funny,’ Draco told them, as he pressed the stamp to the back of their hands. ‘Show that at the bar when you want drinks. Don't get anything complicated, they're swamped.’

‘Malfoy,’ Potter said. ‘You look, uhhh....’

‘Yes, I know.’ Draco flicked his wig out of his face, looking around. ‘We have rooms, three, four, six and seven. You can go into whichever one you fancy.’ He turned around as he heard his name called from the bar. ‘Oh no, Cherelle!’ he called out. ‘They can go through, they're with the party! I'll stamp them in a tic!’

Cherelle waved in acknowledgment and directed two of Nico's forum friends (both dressed as Sasquatch) into the second karaoke room.

‘Do you know how many Sasquatches we have?’ Draco said in exasperation, turning back to Potter, Granger and Weasley. ‘I love Nico, but this is a very poorly thought out theme.’

‘And, er, what are you dressed as, exactly?’ Weasley asked, looking Draco up and down.

Draco gave him a sharp, scolding look and tugged his skirt down in modesty. ‘Isn't it obvious?’

‘You're Melissa,’ Granger said, realising. ‘That's a very… loose interpretation.’

Draco thought he did an excellent job of his costume, thank you very much. He transfigured an old set of dress robes into a pretty perfect replica of her blue, lacy dress. Like, alright, maybe it came out a little shorter than it sits on Melissa. But he wore her wide, flat, sunshine yellow hat perched on his blonde curls, blue ribbon tickling the nape of his neck. He even charmed his eyes green for the evening and drew the lines of doll joints into the creases of his elbows, wrists and around his neck. He wore thigh high white stockings, held up with a lacy garter belt--and maybe that wasn't quite faithful to the source, but it was extremely cute.

He tottered in his heels. ‘Nico approved my costume,’ he sniffed.

‘Ruffles!’ Nico enthused on cue, sneaking up behind Draco and grabbing the hem of his skirt. He dropped his chin onto his shoulder. ‘Hey guys,’ he said to the other three. And then: ‘Wait. You're both the teen wolf.’

‘We didn't coordinate,’ Weasley said. He held out his hand, unsure. ‘How’s it going? Happy birthday?’

Nico shook his hand, and Draco realised that Weasley was the only one he had never met before. ‘Cheers. This is the smoothest this has ever run,’ he said. ‘Usually it's chaos.’

Draco gave the others a significant look. ‘I can't imagine why,’ he drawled.

‘I know, I know. It's going well because you've taken over everything,’ Nico said, kissing his temple. ‘I think everyone is here, by the way. Barring a few more uninviteds.’

Draco glanced back at the bar. ‘I'll check the list.’ Wriggling out of Nico's grip, he shooed them all in the direction of the karaoke rooms. ‘Go, go drink and sing dumb songs. I'll be in as soon as I've sorted everything.’

Coordinating the party had been mostly unintentional, but an excellent idea. It started with offering to pay for everything, an offer that Nico had balked at. This was usually a “bring your own cash” affair. Nico would book the rooms, and that was about it.

‘You realise the bill will rack up to at least a thousand pounds on drinks alone,’ he told Draco. ‘And I keep saying thirty people--that's just who I'm inviting, close friends and stuff. There always end up being more.’

He had not believed Draco when he said a thousand pounds or more was easily fine.

‘I can't let you spend that much on me,’ he said, tugging at his hair and looking distressed.

‘I want to,’ Draco insisted. ‘It's for your birthday. I want you to have fun.’

‘Aaaa,’ Nico moaned and dropped into the couch. ‘Aaaaaaaaaaa.’

‘Are you okay?’

‘Noooooo…’

Draco patted his head, and walked into the kitchen to grab a biscuit. ‘Alright, that's sorted,’ he said. ‘I'm paying for all the drinks, all the room bookings, and pizza.’

‘Aaaaaaaaaa,’ said Nico. ‘I'm just turning twenty-six, it's not even a special birthday.’

The good thing about accidentally falling into the role of organiser, though, was that he had an excuse to talk to absolutely everyone, exert some degree of authority over them, and he had an escape route from every conversation if necessary.

Talking to everyone was great, because apparently word had gotten around that Nico had a boyfriend, and given Nico's reputation for having painfully awful taste in men, everyone really wanted to meet the person who had convinced him to settle down. The general consensus seemed to be that Draco was either Nico's soulmate or a disastrous monster of a human being: and Draco was committed to proving them correct on both counts.

He was doing a good job, so far. Everyone was extremely happy with the free bar. It seemed to be that the fact that this year they were relieved from any expense had invigorated them into actually getting into the karaoke and dressing up, for once. The fact that Draco was wearing a short, ruffly skirt, stockings and heels had pretty much confirmed to everyone that he was a trashy mess--but a trashy mess who was loaded with cash, therefore making him very popular.

Draco checked the list, confirmed that the vast majority of the group had arrived, picked up his stamp to find the last couple of roaming, untagged sasquatches, thanked the staff at the bar and moved onto stage two of the evening, which was to primarily involve getting very drunk and hogging the karaoke machine.

He knew how to run a party.

One thing he never would have expected to have in common with Nico, until it came up, was singing background. Draco was tutored at home, of course, prior to Hogwarts. His parents spared no expense in getting him the best tutoring they could, and his education included the arts. Although he didn't keep up any formal singing after his voice broke, prior to that he was well trained. He still enjoyed to sing, despite his register shifting.

It came up with Nico one morning, not too long ago, when he was just faffing around the apartment and singing Fauré’s Pie Jesu to himself while Nico slept in bed. He could still hit the high notes, but only artificially: his voice wasn't clear and crystalline as it had once been.

It surprised him when he heard Nico's voice, sleep rough but perfectly in key, harmonizing from the door to the bedroom--but he didn't stop singing. He turned slowly, carrying the note, and stared at Nico. He was just in his shorts, leaning against the wall, blinking slowly. It was clear from the way he was singing that he new the song deep in his bones like Draco did, from hours of practice.

Draco had heard Nico sing before, casually: odd snatches of songs from the radio, stuff like that. He knew he could carry a tune. But he had no idea he could sing like this.

They talked about it afterwards. In the moment they just sang together, carrying it through until the end of the movement, both staring at each other in odd wonder and confusion.

‘Why would you have sung in Mass?’ Nico asked, baffled. ‘Wizards aren't religious.’

‘We're not,’ Draco said. ‘I just… we use a lot of Latin, so we sing Latin hymns. At least some of us do. It's a wizarding composition, why would you know it?’

‘Uh, no it's not. It's about the Last Judgement.’ Nico squinted at him. ‘We use it in church a lot.’

The truth of the matter was that prior to the Statute, there was a lot more crossover between wizard and muggle arts and culture. It would not be too strange for a hymn to pass between them, shifting context but retaining form through the generations. It would not be strange for new forms to pass between wizards and muggles and take on different meanings.

It turned out that Nico's singing background was similar to Draco's. He was formally trained in his school’s Catholic choir all through his primary schooling. He stopped when he went to high school, and his voice had changed so much with puberty that although the technical skill remained, he was never able to carry it as he had when he was younger.

Draco likes to think about it, the times when he was home in the manor as a child, alone with his tutor, singing in the parlor, his voice clear, carrying in the high ceilinged room--and somewhere here in London, Nico was singing the same songs along with a hundred other children, under the stain glass windows of his church, a world apart. It's almost romantic, he thinks, like a small, fragile thread stitching their two very different pasts clumsily together.

They are both killer at karaoke. Draco found Nico in room four, once he had finally acquired a strong drink of his very own, and he found him at the mic, performing Enrique Iglesias’ Hero with exuberant passion.

Potter and Co. also happened to be in this room, sitting in the corner next to a small table. Draco slid into the seat to join them.

‘Bloody hell, this is a lot of people,’ Weasley commented.

‘Nico has a lot of friends. And Nico's friends have a lot of friends. And muggles are to a free bar as moths to a flame.’ He took a big sip from his Long Island Iced Tea, swirling his straw to mix it up. ‘I think it’s quite charming, really. I didn’t think muggles had anything good, but it turns out, no. They invented karaoke bars.’ He waved at Finley, who was passing, dressed as some kind of lycra scaly monster and apparently already quite drunk. ‘Marvelous.’

‘I should have invited my dad,’ said Weasley. ‘Blimey, he’d love this.’

From the stage, Nico was still crooning in a low voice. _’Am I in too deep? Have I lost my mind? I don't care, you're here tonight…’_

‘I do not want Nico meeting your father,’ Draco sneered. ‘He will treat him like a commodity, I expect, and Nico won’t appreciate that.’

‘Oh wow, bold move there, Malfoy. Slagging off other people’s parents.’

Draco gave him a dry look. ‘Yes, quite ironic,’ he agreed. ‘So hypocritical of me. Nico visits my mother and father every Sunday for jam and scones, after all.’

Although he had anticipated mostly ignoring Potter, Granger and Weasley at the party and leaving them to their own devices, around the eleven-thirty mark of the night, Draco found that he had spent at least the past forty-five minutes hanging out with them in — what was now — an otherwise unoccupied room. Which was good, because the more they all drank the worse they were all getting at pretending not to be wizards.

Although Draco had been the primary utilizer of their karaoke machine, both Granger and Weasley had put in token songs here and there. Granger had given a very tepid performance of _Hey Jude_, in any case, and Weasley, being quite unfamiliar with most muggle musicians, had drunkenly fumbled his way through _Hooked on a Feeling_, mumbling about 60% of it.

Potter still had not so much as picked up the song book to flick through.

‘Merlin’s sake,’ Draco said in exasperation, and grabbed Potter by the sleeve with one hand and pulled, trying not to spill the Fruit Tingle he held in the other. ‘Sing a fucking song, Potter.’

Potter resisted. ‘I don't want to.’

‘Yes, you do.’

‘Go on Harry,’ Granger said tipsily. ‘It is fun, and it's just us.’

‘You guys and Malfoy,’ Potter pointed out. ‘I don't want to sing in front of Malfoy.’

‘Potter, I am wearing a frilly skirt and I've sung four separate Britney Spears songs tonight. Shame has been left long behind.’ He gestured in the vague direction of the door and the bar, because that's where the shame was abandoned.

‘I don't know any muggle music,’ Potter insisted.

‘You grew up in a muggle house!’

‘Alright, I know the Edinburgh Military Tattoo recording from 1996, and the songs that my cousin used to blast on his boom-box as he followed me around the neighborhood trying to beat me up.’

‘You live with Sirius Black!’ Draco objected. ‘I don’t believe you for a second. Find a song, Potter. We’ll do it together.’

He tugged Potter up to the front of the room. Potter cast a desperate look at Granger and Weasley but, for once, they showed no inclination to save him.

Draco flicked through the songs. ‘I’ll find a duet,’ he announced.

Potter winced, and then pried the half empty drink from Draco’s hand. ‘At least let me finish that for you first,’ he said, and Draco grinned as he let him take it.

If anyone had told Draco when he was seventeen that less than a decade later he’d be drunkenly singing Islands in the Stream with Harry Potter in front of his annoying little friends while dressed up as a slutty haunted doll, he would not have believed them. But sometimes things just work out that way, don’t they?

‘What are you doing?’ Weasley asked as Granger pulled out her phone, pointing the camera at Potter and Draco in front of the karaoke screen where a montage of birds and mountains and people water skiing was playing over the lyrics of the song.

She lowered her voice to reply. ‘Sirius is going to want to see this.’

*

It was a long time before Nico ever saw Malfoy manor. Mother and father ignored his existence for years, and although they continued to treat Draco as lovingly as ever, any mention of The Muggle or The Condition were simply met with resounding silence (save for the occasional dinner, after Lucius had consumed a few too many glasses of wine, in which case he might drunkenly say ‘Draco, have you tried not being a werewolf?’).

Initially this was frustrating, but fine. Nico's family were also difficult, although better. They welcomed Draco into their lives, although seemed to conveniently forget every time they met him that he wasn't just Nico's “friend”. Christmas became a split affair. Draco would join Nico's family on Christmas eve and morning, but return home to the manor for dinner--alone.

But after several years of this, it started to become untenable.

‘I'm not going to see them this year,’ Draco said to Nico mid-December. ‘Not unless they invite you.’

‘I don't mind,’ Nico insisted. ‘Really, it's fine.’

‘No, it's not. I mind.’ Draco jumped up onto the bench next to where Nico was chopping vegetables for dinner. He ran his fingers through his hair. ‘They've had their time to deal with it. They're getting nowhere. It's not about Christmas, but it's important that they meet you. It's been four years.’

Nico breathed out a laugh. ‘Sometimes you just can't make things fit,’ he said. ‘Like trying to squeeze a closet into a handbag.’

‘I could literally do that,’ Draco pointed out. ‘I could do it right now.’

‘Alright, yeah. But I'm just saying, they don't want to know me. You’re not going to be able to change that with one meeting. What's even the point?’

Draco bit his lip. ‘At some stage,’ he said, ‘I want to get married to you. I need my parents to know you before then.’

Nico's grip slipped on the knife slightly. He put it down on the chopping board. ‘Oh,’ he said.

Draco caught his gaze and held it. ‘Alright? You with me?’

They had discussed marriage a few times. Draco made it clear it was important to him. He couldn't have the life he had always planned for himself, but he wanted to retain some of the traditions that were significant for him. He was committed to Nico. That meant, as far as he was concerned, marriage, eventually. He had expected push back from Nico, who still balked often at tangible commitment. But to his surprise Nico agreed easily. Marriage was important for him as well. Marriage, family--these were how he framed his future. Just… nebulously.

Moving the conversation from theoretical to imminent was a slow process that Draco was steadily embarking on.

‘Yeah but nah,’ Nico nodded. ‘You're right, if… yeah, I can see why you want to get them on board.’

‘I would like this to be our last Christmas where you're my boyfriend,’ Draco told him. ‘By next year I would like you to be my fiancé.’ He reached out and took Nico's hand, heading off any alarm. ‘And then we can have an extended five year engagement, I don't mind.’

Nico laughed. ‘I don't think that will be necessary,’ he replied. He leaned in and kissed Draco. ‘I want that too.’ He pulled back. ‘Did you just propose to me?’

Draco slid off the bench and slapped his arse, moving away from the kitchen. ‘When I propose, you'll know it.’

The conversation with his parents did not go quite as well. ‘I'm bringing Nico to Christmas dinner,’ he told them, visiting the manor. ‘We'll stay overnight and spend Boxing Day here.’ The second part was an offering. Draco always returned home after dinner with his parents, a pointed statement.

‘... Draco,’ Lucius said, hesitating.

‘No. Either we are both coming, or I'm not coming at all.’

‘Can't we discuss this after the holidays?’ Narcissa asked. ‘Just have a nice Christmas?’

‘You won't discuss it after,’ Draco replied firmly. ‘And a nice a Christmas is one that I get to spend with my boyfriend and my parents, the three most important people in my life.’

Lucius and Narcissa shared a look. ‘It's inappropriate,’ Lucius said.

‘Is it also inappropriate for my mother and father to put off acknowledging the existence of the love of my life for four years in a row?’

‘The “love of your life”,’ Lucius scoffed. ‘Honestly.’

‘You really think it's going to end eventually, don't you?’ Draco sighed.

‘You'll grow out of this,’ his father said.

‘When? When, exactly, do you see this “growing” happening? I'm not a child, for heaven's sake. I'm going on thirty.’

Narcissa looked pained. ‘You're our child,’ she said. ‘We do know what would be good for you. If you would only—’

‘I'm not doing this,’ Draco interrupted. ‘I'm not arguing about this. I'm not going to point out that I'm a werewolf, again, and have you ignore everything I say, again. I'm not going to try to justify myself, because I don't have to. I have nothing to defend.’

‘Calm down, darling.’

‘I'm perfectly calm.’ Draco stood. It was true. He was sick of this, but he was resigned. He didn't feel angry, or upset. Either they would listen, or they wouldn't. If they didn't, then they would not get to see their son for Christmas. ‘You can think about it,’ he said. ‘If you want me to come to Christmas dinner, you can invite Nico. Invite him personally, the owls know him.’

And he left.

*

It took less time than Draco thought it would, if it were to happen. The following evening, a stately owl entered through the open window and joined Draco and Nico at the dinner table, where they were eating eggs and chips. It hopped toward Nico, who took the very formal looking letter in surprise.

He read it slowly and started laughing, a touch hysterically. Draco looked at him, holding a chip halfway to his mouth.

‘Is that what I think it is?’ he asked.

‘“Cordially invited”,’ Nico read. ‘Fuck. How do I even respond to this?’

Draco took the letter from his hand. He summoned a quill and a fresh parchment. ‘Believe it or not,’ he said, as he charmed the quill to draft up a reply, ‘this seems like it's actually a sincere effort from them. Hm. Well, looks like you're meeting my parents. This will be… interesting.’

‘It was your idea!’

‘And it was an interesting idea of mine. I'm full of them.’

*

Nico’s family were always a lot, especially on holidays when they were all together. Nico got his traits from both his parents: his mother gave him warmth and an outgoing nature, and his father gave him his propensity for long, detailed arguments. His older sister, Ren, was married and had three young children. She was, physically, a lot like Nico: big and handsome with a mane of curly brown hair. She was very evidently the adult of the siblings and often treated both Nico and Tatiana like they were still children themselves. Tatiana was a nail technician, make-up artist, and apparently made a living, somehow, making videos for the internet. Her and Nico were pretty much always a united front, and they both brought out something in one another that was primarily characterised by drinking a lot and singing Estelle’s American Boy start to finish, flawlessly, over dessert.

They also were, as a family, very, very Catholic, which meant Mass, Mass and more Mass at ungodly hours. Or well, godly hours. Apparently. Draco had yet to believe it.

No matter how many years passed--years of being offered the single bed in the spare guest room and having to sit through the same argument over and over as Nico convinced his parents that they would be sharing, years of blagging his way through saying Grace, years of Nico's parents slipping into Portuguese to talk to their children and everyone forgetting that Draco couldn't understand a word that was being said--Draco never quite got used to it. He enjoyed Christmas with the Pereyras. It was warm and fun and exuberant. And extremely muggle. But it was just a lot, and he always left it feeling exhausted.

To a degree, returning to his own family afterwards was usually a relief, even if it replaced loud, intense conversations with extended, pregnant silences whenever Draco tried to talk about his life.

But this year, he was bringing Nico across that threshold, and the feeling of relief was replaced with deep, deep anxiety.

‘I can feel you vibrating from here,’ Nico said, as Draco led him up the long, hedge lined path towards the manor. The peacocks were roaming along the frosted grass like animated snow sculptures.

‘We shouldn't do this,’ Draco said, freezing. ‘We should just go home. This was so stupid. Why would I think this was a good idea?’

‘We're here now,’ Nico replied. ‘What's the worst, yeah?’

Images flashed through Draco's mind’s eye--memories of his father in a black cloak, a mask, hovering muggles in the air as fire burned around them.

He turned, looking at Nico in panic. ‘I love you,’ he babbled. ‘l love you so much. I don't want anything to happen to you, ever.’

‘Is anything, er, likely to happen to me?’

‘No—’ Draco took in a deep breath. ‘Not with, not since... Not if I'm…’ He trailed off. ‘I don't think he would ever do anything of his own accord. My father is capable of doing some horrendous things, but only if there is someone pushing him into it.’

Nico gave him a dry look. ‘You always know just what to say.’

‘We can go,’ Draco said. ‘Now, or at any time. Do you want to go?’

‘No, I can see your fucking mansion and it looks insane.’

It was basically too late to leave anyhow. As Draco watched, the front door opened and he saw mother and father there, waiting with intense formality.

The rest of the walk to the entrance felt like the approach to a guillotine. When he reached the door and kissed his mother on the cheek, he could almost hear the phantom sound of a blade falling.

‘Happy Christmas,’ he said. ‘This is Nico.’

Despite Draco's coaching for the past few days in appropriate formality, Nico still reflexively shot Lucius a thumbs up before amending and reaching out to shake his hand.

Draco noticed that his father's eyes were like steel. Unimpressed.

It might have been better if Nico had not already had four glasses of bubbly at lunch.

‘We've heard so much about you,’ Narcissa said to Nico in the most neutral tone possible. ‘Do make sure not to track snow into the house.’

Sorry, Draco mouthed at Nico as he shot him an eyebrows raised glance, stamping on the ground before the entrance to clean off his trainers.

The table was already set within the dining hall, even more elaborate than what was usual. Draco noticed this with suspicion: the only reason mother and father would have the house-elfs lay out thirteen different types of cutlery for such a small affair would be if they were attempting to catch Nico’s table manners out. Jokes on them: he had none to begin with. But they bypassed it for now, breezing through the hallway and past the ballroom and library to the smaller sitting room, glass windowed and glittering with magical lights, hanging seasonably in the air.

‘Bruuuv,’ Nico murmured to Draco, sotto voce. ‘This is a castle.’

Four glasses of champagne, and two days hanging out with his younger sister, Draco reminded himself. ‘Please, please don't say “bruv” within earshot of my parents.’

‘Brap brap,’ Nico replied.

Narcissa glanced over her shoulder. ‘Excuse me?’

‘I was just saying how nice the manor is,’ Nico said quickly. ‘How old is it?’

‘The property has been in the family since the late 15th century, and was built for its proximity to Stonehenge. Of course there have been many changes, Lucius would be happy to give you a tour.’ She said the last part quite ominously.

With confidence and a blithe cheer that he might have been wiser than expressing if he had been entirely sober, Nico said: ‘Aliens built Stonehenge.’

‘Aliens didn't build Stonehenge,’ Draco interjected swiftly. ‘It was wizards, I've already told you.’

‘And I'm telling you again, prove it.’

‘Stone circles were historically a huge part of wizarding rituals, as well as tools for examining the stars to read the future. They were used to orient and conduct magic.’

‘“Examining the stars”,’ replied Nico slyly. ‘Sounds like code for “helping guide UFOs to land”.’

‘Your theory is that pre-historic wizards were using Stonehenge as an alien UFO airport?’

‘Bingo.’

Draco turned to his parents. ‘Anyway,’ he said. ‘How are you?’

‘An interesting idea,’ Lucius said to Nico, dripping with insincerity. ‘Seems like you have a lot more insight into these things than would be expected.’

It could sometimes be hard to predict with Nico whether he was about to commit wholeheartedly to something ridiculous, or whether he'd shrug it off. Draco knew from years with him that he was perfectly willing to accept that a good portion of the stuff he was interested in was flimsily supported at best, and he would change his mind when presented with new evidence. However, he was also known to dig his heels in on occasion, particularly when it came to things he didn't care about strongly in the first place, which made no sense to Draco for a long time - until he realised that Nico just found it funny.

Quietly, he kind of hoped this would be one of the latter times, because over time he'd started to find it very entertaining as well.

‘I do my best,’ Nico said lightly. ‘Really, it only makes sense when you consider the wider scope of evidence for alien intervention with pre-historic peoples.’

‘Evidence?’

‘We watched a documentary,’ Draco added to back him up. ‘It was rather convincing.’

‘Was it now,’ Lucius said, looking like the last thing he had ever wanted was for his only son to watch documentaries. ‘And you watch a lot of these… “documentaries”, do you?’

‘Yeah, quite a few,’ answered Draco honestly. ‘And Antiques Roadshow.’

Narcissa and Lucius both frowned, but motioned for Draco and Nico to enter the sitting room. Draco plopped himself comfortably down on the couch, immediately reaching for one of the mince pies on the coffee table.

‘Please, make yourself comfortable,’ Narcissa told Nico, who sat down next to Draco, looking around the parlour with interest. He had been in a few wizarding homes now. Draco's, obviously. Lupin’s and Potter’s, Granger’s a couple of times. Once they went to the Burrow, even, for a big party, mostly on account of Arthur Weasley really wanting to meet him. But none of those places were anything like Malfoy Manor, which dripped in magical opulence. Draco noticed that his parents were seemingly displaying even more magic than usual — floating candles, actual fairies instead of fairy lights in the garden outside, champagne glasses hovering at the ready, waiting to be filled. It would be nice if it weren't so pointed.

Narcissa and Lucius sat on the opposite chair, as far away from Nico as possible while trying to appear casual.

‘You may be interested to know,’ Lucius said, ‘You're the first, ah, non-magical person on the property in at least four hundred years. We dismantled some rather unsavoury charms to allow you entrance.’

Nico looked unsure. ‘That's… cool.’

‘You did remove all the charms?’ Draco asked, suddenly concerned.

‘All the ones we could find.’

‘That's alright, I've learnt not to just touch stuff.’ Nico grinned at Draco. ‘Ever since that time with the jelly legs music box.’

Draco frowned. Nico always found that incident funnier than he did. It had been something of a wakeup call for Draco, actually, to find Nico stuck stumbling on the floor and unable to free himself from the jinx. Since then, he has stopped leaving any of his objects out in the open, even “harmless” ones. And, perhaps more importantly, ceased selling them on to muggle shops, ever.

‘Yes, well… Especially important here, I think. I doubt anything would have anything quite so simple as a jelly legs jinx placed on it.’

‘Not that we would keep any dark objects in the manor,’ Lucius lied.

‘Let's not scare the muggle,’ Narcissa interjected, as though talking about a child. ‘Shall we have something to drink? Nicolas, do you take wine?’

‘Oh, go on then,’ Nico said. When the glass floated instantaneously towards him, he reflexively held out his hand for it. ‘I'll admit I had a couple with lunch but one more couldn't hurt.’

Draco laughed under his breath.

‘Do muggles celebrate Christmas?’ Narcissa asked dryly.

‘You know they do, mum.’

‘My family is full on Christ and Mass about it,’ Nico said. ‘Whole nine yards. We've been up since 4am, eh, love?’

‘Don't remind me,’ Draco said.

‘How quaint,’ added Lucius. ‘I suppose you need to entertain yourselves somehow.’

Nico took a drink from his champagne and put it down. He glanced at Draco. ‘Hey, sorry, where's the bathroom?’

‘Oh, if you leave through that door it's the third one on the left, past the gallery.’ He pointed to the far side of the room.

Nico got to his feet. ‘Excuse me,’ he said apologetically, and exited the room.

Draco helped himself to his own wine. ‘Well,’ he told his parents. ‘You could threaten him slightly less, but other than that…’

‘What on earth was that about aliens?’ asked Lucius.

‘Or rather, what not on earth?’ He chuckled. ‘I dunno, he says stuff like that. Don't worry about it, he's mostly joking when it comes to extraterrestrial stuff. Just don't get him started on Nessie.’

‘And you find this an endearing trait, darling?’

‘Well, yeah. And as I said, sometimes pretty convincing. I think I’m convinced about aliens more than Nico honestly.’

From the expressions on each of his parents face, Draco could tell that they were even less impressed by Nico than they could have anticipated.

But that was fine. They didn't need to like him.

Draco ran his hand down his face, yawning. ‘I should have gone back to bed this morning…’ he muttered.

‘Why were you up so early?’ Narcissa asked, concerned. ‘You've never been good without sleep, sweetheart.’

Rather than try to explain Mass to his parents, Draco just said, ‘Did you know muggles only need to sleep about half as many hours as wizards?’

Lucius’s brow furrowed. ‘Do they, now.’

‘Nico says it's because wizards use up more energy during the day performing magic. It's a drain on our body's energy reserves and we need more rest to make up for it. He also says this is why wizards are primarily diurnal, whereas muggles are cathemeral. He only sleeps about three or four hours a night.’

Everything Draco said was true. Nico _did_ tell him all that and Draco had, initially, believed him.

It had been news to Draco, when he and Nico moved in together a little over a year ago, that his boyfriend didn't sleep. He hadn't noticed, even though they spent nights together as often as not, perhaps because they tended to compromise somewhere in the middle. Nico would either sleep through the night with Draco, and wouldn't make a fuss when he woke up first (which was always), since he could just faff about on his phone — or, he would wake Draco up several times during the night to fuck, and Draco wouldn't complain because he could just nap and catch up on sleep later in the day while Nico was at work.

But once they were living together full time, Draco started to take note of the fact Nico just… didn't seem to sleep. He had to be up for work by six thirty in the morning most days, but still it was a struggle to get him to bed before two. Sometimes he'd go to bed with Draco at about eleven, they'd have sex, Draco would fall asleep — and then he'd stir twenty minutes later to find the bed empty and Nico up on his computer reading about cryptids.

‘What are you doing?’ he would ask groggily, rubbing his eyes.

‘Couldn't sleep,’ Nico would reply, still sounding as bright as he would during the day. ‘S’all good, go back to bed.’

Draco would. And then the same thing would happen the next night, and the next night, and the next. Nico would be up playing Fallout, Nico would be up making sandwiches, Nico would be up talking to someone in New Zealand over webcam.

‘Is there something wrong with the bed?’ Draco finally asked, at his tether. ‘Or with me?’

That's when, at three in the morning, Nico fed him the bullshit about muggles not needing much sleep, Draco took him honestly at his word, and the problem was solved.

That is, until it came up in conversation with Granger.

She had been exhausted and overworked, and he said, ‘Bet you wish you were a muggle right now.’

She gave him an odd look. ‘What are you on about?’

‘You could just do with five more hours in the day,’ he replied. At her continued confusion, he added, ‘You know. Because muggles don't need to sleep all night like we do.’

Granger bit her lip, and then started laughing. ‘Did Nico tell you that?’

‘I was joking!’ Nico said defensively, also laughing, later. ‘I didn't think you'd taken me seriously.’

‘Well, you sounded very convincing! I was half-asleep! It seemed to make sense!’

‘Did you also believe me when I said muggles could absorb all of our essential nutrients from Diet Coke?’

Draco frowned. ‘No, of course I didn't,’ he lied. ‘If it's not because you're a muggle, then why don't you sleep?!’

‘I do sleep,’ objected Nico. ‘I get a full four hours most nights.’ He shrugged. ‘I dunno, man. I've never slept much. It's just something about how I'm wired, or maybe how much coffee I drink during the day. It's really no big deal. I'm sorry if it disturbs you during the night, I'll make sure I keep it down.’

Draco shrugged, embarrassed. ‘It's not that,’ he muttered. ‘I just get lonely when I wake up and you're not there.’

In the end, Nico just started staying in bed for half an hour or so after sex until Draco was completely asleep before getting up again.

Now, Draco's parents look like they're not sure whether to believe what Draco is telling them.

‘That's… interesting,’ replied Narcissa finally.

With Nico gone, the atmosphere relaxed ever so slightly, and Draco enjoyed his mince pie as he chatted idly with his parents. However, after ten minutes or so, concern started to niggle at him. After twenty minutes, his parents were also taking note of Nico’s extended absence, although politely declining to mention it.

After a half hour, Draco got to his feet. ‘He must have gotten lost,’ he said. ‘I'll go find him.’

He stepped through the tall doors and walked briskly down the hall, checking rooms along the way. He frowned. There were two ways this was going to go. Either Nico had massively overeaten at lunch and this would just be rather awkward, or Lucius hadn't quite gotten rid of all the dangerous charms in the house.

He reached the bathroom, entered the narrow antechamber, and knocked gently on the door. ‘Nico? Are you alright?’

Muffled from the other side of the wood: ‘Oh thank fuck.’ The door swung open, and Nico on the other side looked panicked. He was holding the knob of a tap in his hands, clearly broken off the sink.

Draco started laughing. ‘Oh, good,’ he said. ‘Here I was worried you'd been eaten by the toilet. I'll fix it back on.’

‘That's not even the big problem.’ Nico stepped backwards, letting Draco into the room. He gestured into the corner where, next to the broken sink, a large collection of porcelain shards littered the tiles. ‘While I was trying to fix it,’ Nico explained. ‘I bumped that big vase thing.’

Draco pulled out his wand, still smirking. ‘Can't leave you alone for five minutes,’ he teased as he charmed the tap back into its place. ‘That vase is priceless, you know.’

‘Fuck, everything in here is priceless,’ Nico objected. ‘You can fix it, right?’

‘Yes,’ Draco answered. ‘Reparo.’

Nothing happened.

‘Oh,’ Draco said ‘Then, no.’

‘Shit. I'm sorry.’

‘It's just a stupid vase. But my parents can't find out you broke anything, they'll be furious.’ Draco ran a hand through his hair. ‘I'll have to tell them I did it.’

‘They're gonna know that's bullshit, surely. I've been down here nearly forty minutes.’

Draco leaned forward and took Nico’s face in his hands. ‘Why didn't you come and get me?’

‘I texted you! You have so many texts!’

Draco would later check his phone and confirm this, finding a chain of messages ranging from:

\- Please come here  
\- Fuck  
\- Sooooo I fucked up  
\- It was five minutes how did I fuck up in five minutes  
\- I live in this toilet now  
\- Which is actually nicer than my old place so that's ok  
\- Who puts a delicate vase right next to the bathroom sink anyway  
\- Was this a test  
\- Draco check your phone  
\- I'm climbing out the window goodbye forever I’ll miss you  
\- My fat arse can't fit through the window  
\- Help

‘My phone is off,’ Draco said. ‘How is yours even working? Magic in high concentration messes with technology.’

‘I don't know, mate. It's a new phone.’

Running a hand over his face, Draco thought through the options. ‘Okay.’ He pulled out his wand and conjured a dustpan and broom. He handed them to Nico. ‘Sweep up the pieces, I'll be right back,’ he told him, and disapparated with a pop. He reappeared several moments later, holding another large delicate vase. ‘It's a set,’ he explained. He placed it carefully next to the sink and took the dustpan from Nico, now full of broken shards.

‘What are you gonna do with that?’

‘Vanish it,’ Draco said, and did just that. ‘I’m hoping by the time they notice the other vase is gone they won’t put two and two together. Or, if nothing else, we’ll be out of harm's way.’

‘Solid plan.’

‘I’m not the one who broke two seperate things while taking a shit.’

‘I feel that when we first met you were more refined than this,’ Nico commented. ‘Less inclined toward vulgarity. Maybe your parents are right about me.’

Draco smirked and kissed him, before opening the door again and waiting for Nico to leave before him.

‘I'm making a terrible first impression, aren't I?’ Nico asked, not moving from the toilet.

‘Yeah.’

‘Do you care?’

‘No, I'm enjoying myself. Honestly, the only way you were ever going to make a good impression would be if you were a mudblood-hating pureblood witch with a huge inheritance. Better to just have fun with what we've got. You become an arsehole when you're nervous, I knew that already.’

Nico breathed out a laugh and finally stepped through the door. ‘Okay.’

Draco followed him. ‘Did you know,’ he said. ‘When we were first dating, I thought about trying to introduce you to my parents as a wizard.’

‘Haha, what?’

‘It was just a dumb fantasy. It was like, maybe we could dress you up in robes and I can tell them you're a pureblood wizard from Brazil, which is why they don't know you. You'd pretend to only speak Portuguese, you see, so they wouldn't be able to question you.’

‘I'm not sure about this relationship where we don't even have a common language,’ Nico said, a grin stretching his face. They stepped out into the wide, empty hallway. Nico's trainers squeaked slightly on the marble floor as they walked back in the direction of the sitting room.

‘We do,’ corrected Draco. ‘The language of love.’

‘Ugh.’ Nico pulled a face. ‘Anyway, no offense, you could never get me into a pair of robes.’

‘Aw, is your masculinity threatened by the idea of wearing a dress?’

‘Uh, no. My sense of comfort is threatened by the idea of wearing something with a collar and sleeves.’ As they walked, Nico was looking into the rooms they passed, getting an idea if the scale of the Manor. At one door, he paused, stepping over to the half open doors. ‘That's cool!’ he enthused.

Draco followed. ‘The organ?’ he asked. The room was an open space with high windows and a large organ, pipes stretching up into the high ceiling and strips of light falling across the room in soft rose beams from the setting sun. There was a small seating area of plush lounges, and the room scaled several levels: balconies from the second and third levels of the house looked out into the chamber below. Draco pushed the doors open fully and stepped into the empty room. ‘Do you want to see how it works?’

‘Yeah? Does it do something weird?’

‘I don't think so,’ Draco said, walking over to the instrument and sitting down in front of the keys. He beckoned Nico over. ‘Stand here,’ he said, then put his hands on the keys and clumsily played a few notes. It took a few moments to become re-familiar, but very quickly he found his fingers following patterns he had long since consciously forgotten.

‘That's nice,’ said Nico, as the music played from the organ, a rich melody that echoed up through the large room.

‘This isn't the cool bit,’ Draco murmured. ‘Sing something.’

Nico gave him a surprised look. ‘Sing what?’

‘Something in Latin. Whatever I'm playing.’

It took Nico a moment, but after a pause he began to sing the hymn in a low voice. For a second Draco thought it wasn't going to work with a muggle, but then the keys shifted under his fingers — he was still playing, but it was as though a second and third pair of hands had joined him, dancing over the adjacent keys, harmonizing. At the same moment, Nico’s voice was joined by others. It was emanating from the organ, ghostly and ethereal, a choir of bodiless voices that matched Nico's tone perfectly. They _were_ his voice, reverberating and contrasting, filling the room with beautiful, low tones.

Draco was concentrating on playing, but he could sense Nico at his side, hear the way his voice faltered here and there, and the choir faltered with him. He adapted quickly, playing the ghostly choir like the instrument they were.

After a while, Draco’s fingers faltered on the keys — he had played all he could remember. As the organ stopped playing, the choir faded and went quiet and Nico, in response, stopped singing.

‘Pretty cool, isn't it?’ Draco asked.

‘Yeah,’ Nico replied. He cleared his throat. ‘Hey, I love you, you know that right?’

‘Mmhmm,’ Draco hummed. He plonked another couple of keys on the organ aimlessly.‘Wot?’

‘I probably don't say it enough,’ Nico said seriously. ‘I'm just — sometimes it's all this magical shit, the castle, everything, it reminds me how much I like you. With it all stripped away. Just you.’

Draco felt his cheeks warm and looked up at him with a grin. ‘You're a dork,’ he said. ‘You wouldn't have looked twice at me if I weren't a werewo--’

Or rather, he thought he'd be looking up at him. Dropping his gaze, Draco frowned. ‘What are you doing on the ground?’

‘Kneeling,’ Nico replied, and reached out to take Draco’s hands. ‘I don't have a ring.’

‘You don’t have a—’

‘So just like, imagine, yeah? We can sort that out later. But—’

‘You idiot,’ Draco said, and got off the chair, sliding to the ground so he was level with Nico on the floor. He fumbled in his pocket. ‘I have a ring.’

‘You have a ring?’

‘I told you, you’d know when I—’

‘Give it here, then,’ Nico said, holding out his hand. ‘So I can give it to you.’

‘No!’ Draco snatched the ring back. ‘It’s for _you._ Stand up, so I can—’

Nico burst out laughing. ‘Are you going to let me propose, or not?’

‘I most certainly am _not,’_ Draco snapped vehemently. ‘Stand up, so I can propose.’

‘I got to it first!’

‘No you didn’t, you don’t even have a ring. I was clearly more prepared for this.’

Nico only laughed harder, and it was infectious. Draco found himself giggling.

‘Will you marry me?’ Nico asked, as Draco was overcome in a fit of borderline hysterics.

‘Yes,’ Draco answered. ‘Obviously. Will _you_ marry _me?’_

‘Yeah, obviously,’ Nico replied, and let Draco put the ring on his finger. He pulled him into a kiss.

It was a messy kiss, because they were both laughing on the floor, and Draco was giddy and shaking, and because Nico was just kind of a messy person.

When they broke apart, Draco took a deep breath and looked around, getting his bearings. To his surprise, he saw his parents standing in the doorway, watching in stunned silence.

He startled. ‘How long have you been there?’

‘We heard the organ,’ Narcissa answered. ‘We haven’t heard you play in years.’

So they saw the whole thing then. Great.

Draco couldn’t wipe the dizzying smile off his face. He held up Nico’s hand by the wrist, showing it off. ‘We’re getting married!’ he announced.

His father looked pale.

Nothing could bring down Draco’s mood for the rest of Christmas. Not his parents’ disapproval, not Nico tipping gravy all over the Christmas dinner table after another glass of wine, not waking up on Boxing Day and bearing the overwhelming silence from Lucius and Narcissa as he drank his wolfsbane down over breakfast.

‘Oh!’ he realised suddenly as he finished his tea, standing abruptly up. ‘I need to floo Potter! He needs to know I got engaged before him!’

‘He’s not planning on getting married,’ Nico pointed out around a mouthful of toast. Draco saw his mother wince at the slight spray of crumbs.

‘That’s not the point,’ Draco said. It was the first time ever, and it _mattered_. ‘I still beat him!’


End file.
